


difficult

by cakecakecake



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, F/M, Future Fic, Growing Up, House Party, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: she always makes it harder than it has to be.
Relationships: Helga Pataki/Arnold Shortman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	difficult

**Author's Note:**

> coping with this pandemic by re-watching my favorite cartoon from childhood - arnold and helga have always been one of my favorite dynamics. i can't believe it's almost been three years since the jungle movie already. i miss the hype and i miss them. here's a little something about my kids.

She spots him just across the snack table. He looks almost the same. Same blue hat, same lop-sided smile. Blue jeans, white shirt. 

He grew. Not taller than her, she can tell even a good thirty feet away, but tall _er_. Broader. A little tan. He looks just like his mother. 

Helga takes a slow sip of whatever Rhonda handed to her when she walked in, watching him. He’s standing awfully close to a girl she doesn’t know, touching her arm now and again. Not talking very much. His smiles are tiny and careful. He glances around, stopping just short of meeting her eyes. She slinks further away, toward the back of the room.

It’s stuffy as it always was. Packed to the walls with guests, half of whom she can hardly recognize, now. Everyone had made it, supposedly, but only a handful of her old classmates had greeted her. Not surprising. Most of them probably don’t remember her. Maybe that’s for the best.

“Feels weird to be back, huh?” 

Gerald hums in her ear. He nudges her ribs and Helga slaps his elbow.

“You’re tellin’ me.” 

He jerks his head toward her two-o'-clock. “You say ‘hi’ yet?” 

She glares at him, blushing up to her hairline. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“That’s a ‘no’ -- "

“It’s not that easy,” she hisses through gritted teeth. 

“Sure it is,” he says, unhelpfully. “Just walk up, call him some ridiculous nickname from our repressed childhood, and he’ll pull you into a hug and tell you how great it is to see you.” 

Helga’s breathing stutters. She tries to think of a retort, or some excuse, but Gerald lets her off easy -- or maybe he just gets distracted. Rhonda drifts past them, drink in hand, leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. Phoebe trots behind her, looking strangely like she's plotting something. She wrinkles her nose playfully at Helga before pulling Gerald by the wrist. Something-something finger sandwiches, need-your-help-in-the-kitchen. She can hear them giggling a ways behind her. She looks up at just the wrong second. 

Their eyes meet and Helga's lungs empty of air. Arnold’s face splits into a wide grin. He says something aside to the girl next to him and starts walking. Her breathing gets faster. She remembers where the balcony is, pushing past the clusters of party guests to reach the winding staircase. The sliding door is unlocked.

It’s a warm night. Mid-July. Sirens wail and dogs bark and flashing lights dance along the streets below. The streets never sleep in Hillwood. She’s missed all the noise. 

“Helga?”

The last time she came up here, she was twelve. Another party, the tail end of seventh grade. A week before she moved. Arnold watched the sunset with her. 

There’s no sun, now. The onset of twilight brings the sky down low enough to meet the tops of buildings. Glaring lights from open windows flicker. The closest it gets to seeing stars on this side of town. It’s windy tonight. Stray locks of hair are whipping about her face. She doesn’t turn around, just leans over the railing. Staring at the cars rolling by. 

“Hey, Arnold.” 

His hands are bigger. They come to rest at the dip in her back, his fingers against her skin. The dip of the dress is low. A pink dress, too short for her height. It flutters about her thighs. He’s not looking there, though, just trying to catch her eye. His touch is almost too warm. 

He’s still smiling. She still won’t turn around, but she glances aside. He looks nervous. Happy, but nervous. He’ll open his mouth only to close it again. Too much to say and not sure what to say first. “I miss you” is what finally comes out. Helga feels her heart seize. 

“I miss you too.” 

He looks at her the same way he used to. A helpless smile, bright in the eyes. Something in them glinting, going soft for her. Just for her. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be back.” He doesn’t sound upset, just a little disappointed. She’s not sure if that’s worse.

“Surprise,” she offers, dripping sarcasm. He rests his arms on the iron rails next to her and there’s a warmth to his closeness. A great comfort in the way he takes up space. She can smell his shampoo, or maybe it's his cologne. A familiar, spicy sort of scent. Something like she used to spray on her pillows.

“How long are you in town for?” 

“Ever,” she says plainly. “Well, not yet -- soon. In a couple weeks. Miriam’s looking for a place.” 

Arnold’s brows knit tight together. “What do you mean?”

“She divorced Bob, Arnold,” she says, tersely. “And I didn’t wanna stay out there with him, so…”

“Is she okay?” he asks gently. Helga fights softening for it. To no avail, of course. “Has she gotten better?”

“She’s trying,” she tells him. “Honestly, I think the divorce is helping.” 

“Her, or you?” he asks, all-too knowing. She scoffs at him, but smirks.

“Both.”

A short beat of quiet before they both laugh. It’s soft and easy, like it used to be. It drops off into sighs and their eyes meet again and Helga stiffens. Arnold holds her gaze for a breath. 

“I wish you would have told me.” 

“You didn’t tell _me_ you were seeing someone,” she makes the jab. No effort to hide the bitter in her voice. He frowns. 

“I didn’t think it would matter.” 

Helga makes an awkward noise, something caught between a giggle and a sob. Her throat goes dry. Breathing gets just a little harder. “Oh, _sure_ , why would it matter?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” There’s a strain in his voice so stretched it almost cracks. “Helga, I had no idea you were coming back, and -- ”

“Oh, don’t try to turn it around on _me_ , Arnold,” she snaps. Arnold just sighs. He looks so calm it makes her irate.

“I’m not, Helga -- why do you do that?” 

“Do _what_?”

“Make it more difficult,” he says. He looks exhausted. It’s painful. “You’ve always made it harder than it had to be -- ” 

This wasn’t it. The countless times she thought of this very instance, this wasn’t it. The opposite of what she wanted. 

She spins on her heel, choking down a hollow laugh. “Wow, so the truth finally comes out, huh?”

His face is stark white. She makes for the sliding door but he takes hold of her wrist. She wrenches away, striding back over to the railing. She wants to leave, but she looks back at his face. The iron bars along the balcony seem to wall up and cage her in.

“Helga,” he says her name like a plea. He does that, when she gets angry. Pleads with her. He looks scared every time and she hates it, hates that she does that to him. 

It was easier to make him afraid. It was too hard to see him happy. (It wouldn’t last.)

“Is that why we never said anything about us?” she barks. “Because I made it too hard for you? It was always ‘cuz of me, wasn’t it, complicating your life _so_ much -- ”

He looks at her like it agonizes him to do so. “Helga, you have no idea what I’m trying to say, here.” He sounds guilty, sheepish. She groans.

“What, then? Spit it out if you’re so insistent -- ”

“I waited for you,” he starts to say. He looks a little relieved to have the floor and she wants nothing more than to rip it out from under him. She chews her inner cheek. “Years. To see if you’d come back. I didn’t want to be with anyone else, Helga.”

Her heart aches. It’s a dull, miserable pain, almost nostalgic. It makes her homesick. It’s familiar. Feeling it grip her on the inside is almost comfortable. It’s what she knows best. Arnold’s eyes don’t leave her face.

“But you went so long without talking to me that I just -- ” 

She doesn’t let him finish. She never did. Her words come out in a breathless gasp. “Moved on.”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, combative. A rush of color floods back to his face, his neck. 

“And you said _I_ was making things difficult,” she bites back, and he laughs. Brows wound tight, fists curled at his side. He always laughed when he got mad. Like he had to. He always hated getting mad.

“You are! You do this every time!” His voice is hoarse already, breathless laughter still hanging on it as he moves in closer to her. Grabbing her shoulders. He did that when he was mad, too. Touched her. She hated it. “You wake my parents out of a ten-year slumber and show me your twenty-four volume collection of poems about me and -- and then when I show the slightest bit of interest -- ”

The blunt of his fingertips dig into her shoulders, like he’s desperate to hold onto her. Afraid she’ll slip away again. She’ll run like sand through the cracks of his fingers, so he clutches her whenever she’s angry. She won’t run if he holds her and he’s right. She hated it, because he was right. She fights not to look at him.

“Stop,” she mutters. A knot in her throat coils tight. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but she can hear Arnold fighting very hard not to cry.

“ -- you run, you don’t even give me a chance,” he croaks. “You said ‘no’ to me before I could say ‘no’ to you -- ”

“You’re wrong -- ”

“I’m not.” He doesn’t yell, doesn’t raise his voice. “You were so afraid of wanting me, you never realized how much _I_ wanted you, too.” 

Looking at him is a mistake. (It always is.) (Everything is.) Her eyes start to water and he starts to smile in that awkward, apologetic way. Like he’s so sorry for being right. Always sorry. He never does anything wrong, but he’s always sorry. Maybe if he wasn’t, it would be easier. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t still be standing so close.

He loosens his grip on her, but doesn’t let go. She doesn’t want him to. 

“I still do,” he says. Just barely above a whisper. “And I know you do, too.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. Her fingers twitch. She doesn’t remember balling her fists up in his shirt. He’s much too close. It doesn’t stop her drawing him in. 

“Is _that_ what you think,” she can barely manage to speak. She looks at his lips -- parted, wet, open. He looks at hers. His hands are around her neck. 

“I _know_ ,” he amends her. His breath mingles with hers. It’s warm on her cheek. “I know by the look on your face. You’re dying to kiss me. You can’t hide from me, Helga.” 

Her heart is racing. The ends of her nerves spark and crackle like frayed wires. She’s kissed him before, but never like this. She’s never stopped just short of it, never given herself the moment before to watch it come to be. The air condenses around them like they’re locked in this tight little space. The open balcony has never felt smaller. Helga can hear a strike of thunder somewhere farther away. 

He’s this close.

“So what if I do, then?” She argues. She knows it’s futile. She winds her hands tighter in the fabric of his shirt. He’s so still, but she can feel his heartbeat. It’s trembling. Her hands are trembling. “It doesn’t change a thing, Arnold. You’re a saint, a good boy. You won’t let me.” 

“Is that what you think,” he parrots her. He’s so quiet. She hears thunder crash again. Closer.

“I think you want to kiss me, too, but you won’t,” she whispers, harshly. Her heart is pounding fiercely. His lips are just shy of bridging the tiny gap between them. “But you won’t -- ”

But he does. He only has to tilt his head the slightest bit to crush his mouth against hers. It’s electrifying, dazzling, intoxicating -- nothing like any kiss they’d shared before. Anything but soft, not the least bit gentle. Her breath is stolen from her. A sigh dies in her sticky throat. 

Helga grasps his shirt so roughly her nails almost tear a hole through it. His hands have moved to hold her face, almost too tightly. Her cheeks burn under his palms. He backs her against the railing and she winds a leg around one of his. With a sharp breath through his nostrils, Arnold pulls back.

He stares at her. Smiles.

She tries to remember what breathing is like.

“Arnold -- ”

“I _was_ seeing someone, until I saw you come through the door earlier,” he says. He pushes the hair out of her eyes.

The fog in her head starts clearing. “What?”

“She knew about you,” he goes on, voice trailing off as she stumbles to follow. “When we met, I told her everything. Everything I felt about you. And that if I ever found you again, that would be it.”

The rain starts coming down. Lightly, only enough to sprinkle. It’s cool on her bare shoulders, on her back. Little droplets cling to Arnold’s lashes and fall, one by one, rolling in little streams down the curve of his cheek. His eyes are so green.

“She said Rhonda let you in, so when I saw you...that was that.”

Helga takes a step forward. “You mean you -- ”

“We broke up before I came upstairs.” 

She jabs at his chest -- doesn’t remember letting go of his shirt, but her hands find it again. She almost raises a fist to punch him. Almost. He’s smiling even wider. “Why didn’t you LEAD with that, Arnoldo?”

“I told you I didn’t think it mattered and you didn’t let me explain _why_ \-- ”

“Oh, so it’s MY fault you’re a failure at communicating -- ”

He kisses her again. Open-mouthed and sloppy, only for a moment before she sinks into it. She’s definitely clawed at least one hole in his shirt at this point. He tastes like cream soda and peppermint, like he popped a tic-tac just before. He probably did. What a loser. The thought makes her kiss him harder. She feels him smiling, indulging in her enthusiasm until he breaks it off -- only to capture her lips again, and again, neater and more intent each time. He doesn’t stop until they’re almost breathless. 

“You’re impossible,” he mocks her, grinning. He’s resting his forehead against hers. 

“Well you’re a -- a -- ” she starts to retort, but of course he won’t let her finish. Just kisses her again. And again. The rain is picking up and their faces are getting wetter. He’s still so warm. “ -- you’re really good at this, fuck.”

He leaves her mouth to kiss along her jaw, close to her ear. His shirt is damp, cool against her dress. A great juxtaposition to the heat of their skin, so close. 

“I’ve had practice.” 

Helga scoffs, pushing him off of her with a scowl. “WOW, so much for waiting for me -- ”

“I wasn’t about to let you come back to an amateur,” he says, too smug. He bends to graze his lips against her neck, hands resting on her hips. She rolls her eyes. She can’t fight laughing. 

“Oooh, nice save, I almost forgot I was pissed at you.” 

“You weren’t to begin with.” 

“You just know me so _well_ , don’t you?” 

It’s not really a question. They both know it. He smiles at her and she smiles back. For the first time in years, she smiles back.


End file.
